


Accuracy is Over Rated

by IrishWitch58



Series: Classified Kitten [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 23:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18020249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: The further adventures of JB and his handlers. This is a very silly series of stories. And the Q branch staff continue to be clueless. Warnings for violence against innocent furniture.





	Accuracy is Over Rated

**Author's Note:**

> As a veteran of raising many kittens, I can attest to the value of spray bottles. It startles the little menaces and breaks their concentration and redirects their behavior. I don't advise soaking them, just a quick spritz.

“Trent, may I ask where you have been?” Hanson, the shift chief was eyeing the staffer over the rim of his coffee mug. The man, surprisingly, did not seem as nervous as he sometimes did. He was holding a cardboard box, originally a printer paper box, now full of an odd selection of items Trent had apparently gathered.

“Mr. Hanson, I was just doing some errands for the Boss. He sent me an email requesting I hunt up some things for him. I guess he has a project in mind.” He held out the box and Hanson inspected it, poking at the collection of oddments. There were small wiring harnesses, wheels similar to the ones on desk chairs only much smaller, a handful of circuit boards, a miniature power supply,and an empty spray bottle. “Any idea what it could all be for?”

Hanson frowned, picking up and turning the plastic bottle over in his hands. It seemed the most out of place. “Where did you get this?” he asked, not answering the original question.

“Maintainence, sir. They have a closet with lots of them. They get them empty and fill them with whatever cleaner they need. This is a new one though. The Boss was very clear it had to be unused.” Hanson replaced the bottle and waved Trent toward the office of their department head. He had no idea what Q might be up to but if it proved out, they would surely get a look at it. He headed back to his own station. He had three operations under his supervision now. Not 00 missions to be sure but still requiring frequent attention. The more junior field agents had more respect for the mission handlers. He sometimes pitied his superiors who had to deal with the 00's. Cocky, the whole lot of them, until they ran into something they couldn't punch, shoot, or blow up. Then it was all about getting intel and decrypting data and they were all grateful Q branch did their job without undue fuss.

Trent rapped lightly at the office door and pushed when the lock clicked open. The Boss, Q, was sitting at the workbench against the far wall. He glanced around and nodded at Trent. “Found everything?” he asked.

Trent swallowed hard and answered. “Yes Sir, everything on the list. Will you be needing anything else?”

Q was already sifting through the box. “No, no. You can get back to your desk. And see if you can get around to the specs I sent out yesterday. Important but not urgent. It's work that can be done in between the more essential things but do try to get to it.” He picked up one of the wiring harnesses and examined it closely and mutterred, “Yes these will do nicely,” and turned back to his worktable. Trent was dismissed and backed toward the door. For once nothing odd seemed to be going on. That made Trent unaccountably more tense. So tense he let out a very startled squeak when the door opened behind him. Looming in the doorway was none other than the best (or the worst depending on who you spoke to) of the 00's, Bond himself. He was dressed in an impeccable suit, his topcoat thrown over one arm and a now familiar mesh sided bag over one shoulder. A plaintive mrow issued from the carrier. Trent was desperately looking for a way around the considerable obstruction of 007, feeling rather like a rat trying to escape a trap. As he slunk around the agent, he felt a tug as a small black furry paw reached out of the carrier and grabbed his sleeve. He froze as 007 noticed and calmly reached out one death dealing hand and flicked the underside of the paw, tucking it back into the carrier. Trent scrambled out of the office as quickly as he could, 

Bond set the carrier on the floor and opened the top, after ascertaining the office door was latched. “I think someone needs his nails trimmed again,” he commented as he helped himself to Q's mug and grimaced at the over stewed taste of the tea. “I'm getting coffee. Do you want fresh tea?” He gathered up the mug in anticipation of an affirmative answer. 

Q waved the plastic spray bottle. “James, please fill this as well. Cool tap water will do.” At the puzzled look, he elaborated. “JB has taken to misbehaving when he's here and I can't always pick him up and move him. A quick spray is usually a good deterrent.” Bond shrugged and checked under his feet before slipping out the door with the mug and bottle. He returned about ten minutes later with fresh tea, coffee for himself and a full spray bottle. JB was chasing a small fabric mouse around the floor. Q was bent over his workbench, tinkering with a circuit board. Bond set the tea and the bottle on the bench nearby and pulled his own tablet out of the pocket on the side of the carrier. He settled in to reviewing a manual that the higher ups were considering using for new agents. He watched JB out of the corner of his eye. Having abandoned the mouse, he was batting at Q's shoelace, one end dangling past the rung of the stool he was using. Q grabbed the bottle and squeezed the trigger. He was dead accurate. The splash hit JB right in the chest and he sat down with a very perplexed look. James watched with some amusement as JB tried again and received the same consequence. Next he climbed determinedly up the wooden bench leg, hauling his furry butt up on the surface with an air of triumph. He began prowling his new territory, sniffing at everything with an air of discovery. He sat down next to a small wire harness and poked it experimentally. Q looked pointedly at him and said “No, JB.” The kitten looked from the device to him and then back and poked it so it fell to the floor. Again the bottle was used and JB danced back. Q caught him before he could topple off the table as well and placed him on the floor. The pattern repeated many times. JB would move to another amusement, scratching the sofa, tugging at cables, any and all mischief. And each time Q told him quite calmly no or naughty and squirted him. James had given up on his tablet and had settled himself on a second stool near the bench. Q turned back from his latest salvo at JB. He picked up a tiny clamp and was just fitting a minute part into place. James idly reached out a hand to pick up a small wheel. Without even looking, Q grabbed the bottle and let loose a stream of water in his face before realizing his error.

Bottle still in hand, Q raised his eyes and said, “Oops.” Watching James' expression, he eased himself backward off the stool and took a few steps back. James drew a hand across his face and stalked toward him, menace in every line of his predator's form. 

“Do I look like a naughty kitten, Q? Seriously?” He had backed Q into the corner by his desk, caging him between his arms as he placed his palms on the wall. His grin was evil with intent and Q shuddered. 

“No, you don't and I am sorry...” Q's attempt at an apology was interrupted by James leaning in and silencing him with a deep, possessive kiss. 

James eased back a fraction and whispered, “I think you need to make that up to me.” He resumed kissing him and Q went slack with enjoyment, the spray bottle falling unnoticed from his hand to roll under the desk. 

`` Q raised his hands to the broad shoulders, throwing himself into the moment. The work could wait a bit after all. He felt electricity shoot up his spine as James licked at that wonderful spot under his left ear. He protested loudly the next instant as teeth nipped sharply. “Bond! Wait!” He was cut off in his protest by another kiss. Damn the man, he could distract far too easily and Q knew he would have to hide yet another mark of an overenthusiastic encounter. He didn't really mind them but he rather thought they diminished his air of authority.

 

The shift was almost over and Trent had all but convinced himself the day would end with no untoward occurences. The missions were going smoothly. He had found time to make a start on the project Q had handed him earlier and he was planning on a lovely evening with take away and TV. His relief would be here in 45 minutes.That's when the noise started. Trent cringed. The Boss's voice agitated, 'Bond! Wait!'. There was a crash of something hitting the floor and a softer thud and then squeaking noises for a bit. There was an increase in the frequency of the squeaks, mixed with more thuds. Q's voice, somewhat muffled and a deeper voice, definitely Bond's, answering something he couldn't make out. Then there was a very loud crack and silence. Hanson, by this time, had noticed Trent's agitation and was walking toward his station when the loud noise made him look toward the office. He paused, then resumed his measured steps to Trent's desk. “Problem, Trent?”

“The noises, Mr. Hanson. I'm a bit concerned. That last noise particularly.” Both of them looked at the door, They did not voice what they both thought, that the startling sound had been very like a weapon firing. The door opened and Q poked his head around the edge looking well but a bit dishevelled, hair more mussed than usual, eyeglasses a bit cockeyed, and one side of his collar sticking up. 

“Oh, Hanson. Are you shift lead now?” Q asked rather mildly.

“For the next thirty minutes or so, yes. Can I be of assistance?” Hanson was calm and completely unfazed by the uproar that had been seeping through the inadequate soundproofing. Trent was trying to decide what to do if they were asked to dispose of a body. He really needed this job and he didn't want to go to jail. Or worse, be disappeared.

“I seem to have damaged the sofa. It appears one of the legs collapsed. Could you requision a replacement?” There was a muttered comment from inside the room and Q added, “Preferably a bit longer than the present one and with better padding.” The door closed again and Hanson strode back to his station, Trent trailing him. He sat calmly at his desk, opening the requisition form for office equipment, subheading miscellaneous furnishings. 

“You're just going to ignore all that?!” Trent finally blurted out.

Hanson scrolled down the page, ticking boxes and entering authorizations. “Ignore what? The Boss requested a replacement for a damaged piece of furniture. I am completiing the requisition.” He tapped a finger on the keyboard edge. “Hm, fabric, not leather, and perhaps a tweed finish might be nice and definitely get the stain resistant treatment.” Apparently satisfied with the order, he clicked the send box and noted the order number into a text document full of the day's memos. 

Trent shook his head. It wasn't just the agents. Everyone in this place was strange. He returned to his desk and buried himself in code for the remainder of his shift. He was very grateful when his relief was prompt in arriving and he signed off for the day. He and Hanson were boarding the lift for the main level when the door was held open. To his horror, their fellow passengers were the Boss and 007, cat carrier and all. Trent tried very hard not to stare but he couldn't help looking. When the doors opened on the car park level, he hung back with Hanson and whispered, Did you see that?”

Hanson frowned. “See what, Trent?'

“The Boss and 007, they look like they were in a fight. The Boss had a bruise under his ear and 007, well, I could swear he had scratches on his neck.” Trent confided all this in the tones of a man worried about being overheard.

Hanson shook his head. “Trent, do try to look at this the logical way. We know the sofa collapsed, hence the noise. The bruise undoubtedly is also a result of that. As for scratches, Trent, the kitten was in there with them. I have had pet cats. If cats, especially young ones, are startled they can scratch. Seriously, this is Q branch, not the field. I am sure the explanation is much more simple than you suppose. What did you think, that Q and 007 got into a wrestling match?” 

Put that way, Trent did not have a lot to say. He nodded and headed for his vehicle. TV and some spicy Thai take out. And beer. An adult beverage was definitely something he deserved after this afternoon. And he would not think about work. Safer that way.


End file.
